My BFN (Big Fat Negative)

You’re either reading this because you’re a friend on my FB, a follower on IG or maybe you stumbled across my page because my tags peaked your interest in your search engine. Either way… This is something you’re either struggling with, struggled with, know someone who is struggling with or you’re a friend/family member of mine and curious about what I’m going through. When I started talking to a few close friends about it suddenly my most private details were subjected to casual conversation. I realized this topic is… AWKWARD.

Everyone has heard the term infertility. We all know it’s that taboo subject that is like an elephant in the room. When it’s brought up this awkward aura fills the room and nobody has the right words to say. The rooms with elephants and awkward remarks are my new normal. This normally wouldn’t be something I would share to my family, let alone the world or people I’ve never met who know me on social media but I’ve learned this is something people need to know and understand. I always thought, once we do our baby dance we will get pregnant and have a baby! Needless to say that was not our outcome and hasn’t been for awhile. I feel like I go through a cycle of emotions every month…

1. Confidence- confident this time will work!

2. Hopeful- after the baby dance nothing but hope and prayers that THIS is our month. Constantly doing pregnancy tests knowing that it’s too early but there’s still hope!

3. Defeated- aunt flow comes and I know there’s no way we could be pregnant this month. Once again I end up crying on the bathroom floor alone asking.. “Why?”

4. Depression- upset it’s not working and it seems like everyone is posting baby announcements and I can’t help but feel the slightest bit jealous.

5. Determined- that “can do” attitude sets in and then I’m researching different vitamins and herbs that have helped other women. (This week is filled with a large influx of Amazon deliveries.)

6. REPEAT.

That first feeling of solitude really slaps you in the face. But I’ve come to realize I’m not the only one struggling. I’m in support groups, resource pages and of course my husband is my #1 supporter. He has held me when I cried after every negative pregnancy test. He shares my excitement when I’m waving around an ovulation test with tears of joy because I finally ovulated. He listens to my carefully thought out presentations on different vitamins that I KNOW will help and my reasoning on why we NEED them. He talks me through it when I’m ugly crying about how another friend is pregnant after not even trying. He learned all of the acronyms such as BD(baby dance), TTC(trying to conceive), DPO(days past ovulation) and my least favorite BFN(big fat negative). Like I said, he is my biggest supporter and my biggest fan.

Not only is infertility real, but secondary infertility is real as well. Yes, I already have a child. No, it is not easy (for us) to have another child. Infertility, secondary infertility, PCOS, endometriosis and so much more… They don’t give preferential treatment to those deserving of a child. It can happen to anyone. I can’t speak for everyone but take a second and just think about how it must feel to hear about those who “magically” got pregnant after a one night stand when you’ve been trying for months or years. I mean I have a reproductive system, it’s sole purpose is to reproduce, but it’s NOT. Sometimes I can’t help but think somehow I’m “defective merchandise” that can’t be returned or fixed. So whether you or someone you know has been trying for 3 months or multiple years every month is filled with numerous emotions. Sometimes the thought of isolation seems so much easier than explaining to family or friends or having to listening to conversations that consist of “well you haven’t been trying for too long, it’ll happen when it happens, just give it time, you’re young, stop stressing THEN it’ll happen” and many more. So for anyone that knows someone or has/is experiencing this, this is close to my heart, this is for you… For us.

Infertility is so much more than a struggle to get pregnant.

It’s the months that turn into years. The years that turn into forever. It’s the cramping pain you feel when you have yet another month of no luck.

It’s the tears you cry telling your spouse “maybe next month”, when you know it’s not the truth.

It’s the tears your family sheds for you and the prayers they pray each night to make things better.

Infertility is the hundreds of dollars you spend on pregnancy tests, ovulation kits, fertility teas, and supplements.

Infertility is the heartbreak you feel after going to the third specialist that year and getting told “I’m sorry, it didn’t work” once again.

It’s the hours of endless crying in the bathroom after running into a friend who asks “Are you pregnant yet?”

It’s the bittersweet pain you feel when your friends announce they’re expecting another, and you’re dying on the inside.

It’s the thousands of dollars spent on another medication that is “proven to work!”

It’s being told you’ll never conceive until you drop the pounds. It’s going home and eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in tears after hearing it.

It’s the defeat you feel when someone says “well you already have one kid, you’re fine!”.

It’s your friends asking you “are you okay? How are you? You don’t look well.” And you blame it on being tired.

It’s your friends and family insinuating you’re pregnant when you feel nauseated.

It’s your friends saying “just give it time, it’ll happen”. When you’ve given it a year(s) of time.

It’s so much more than just not having a baby. It’s the wrench it throws between you and your friends, your family, your spouse. It’s the depression that keeps you hidden socially. It’s the pain of hope. And it’s the continuous need to try again next month, against all odds.

Infertility is the courage to keep trying, when your hope well has almost run dry.

 

With love,

M

A Seat At The Lunch Table

Disclaimer: Not for those racially sensitive or offended by not being politically correct. 🙂

When talking about racial groups my elementary was primarily Hispanic, unfortunately I didn’t speak Spanish. I thought Middle School would be better, but I was surrounded by African Americans that didn’t accept me because I wasn’t “black enough”. High school blended together, that was a complete nightmare. I was never enough. Not black enough, not white enough, not Mexican enough.

So then I prayed. I prayed God would give me whatever it was to be White, Mexican or Black enough. I didn’t understand. I was all of those things… But I wasn’t. So I joined as many clubs as I could, took all AP classes hoping to distract myself from the sadness and desolation that was slowly consuming me.

I always got the question “what are you?”. Well… I’m a girl who doesn’t feel accepted in a society that claims to be integrated and not give prejudicial treatment of people because they’re different. I’M HUMAN. So why did I feel so isolated?

Instinctually I immediately thought it was my skin color, my heritage, my entire existence. But I thought “I know a few mixed people and they have a place where they feel like they belong, they have a group”. So what was wrong with me? Why did I look around at lunch and not have a place to sit? So I went on a mission to determine the reason. So I stared at them (the racially mixed people) and they probably thought I was a maniac. But I was studying these light-skinned goddesses that weren’t being thrown out as outcasts. I even have a niece who asked me “Mariah, why do you act so ‘white’? You act like you’re better than everyone else. Why can’t you act your color?”

I was confused, I was angry, I was hurt. Even my own family noticed it, I didn’t belong anywhere. I remember coming home crying and asking my dad “How am I acting White? What does it mean to act Black? How does someone act Mexican?” As any adolescent would be in this situation I was confused. Just as any parent would be he told me I’m beautiful, and to just act like myself and people will love me. So I did.

College came around, I met some of the best people I’ve ever encountered. I finally felt like I fit in. But then it happened again. Isolation, it found me. It consumed me. I became the unwed “pregnant girl” everyone talked about. Of course not many college freshmen were having babies so naturally I found myself where I’ve been my whole life. ALONE. So sophomore year of college I made the choice to leave school. Not because it was too hard, but because anything was better than walking through a hallway of judgmental people formally known as “my friends”. To most it seems silly, but for me, the person actually living it… It was hell.

A year or so later I found a guy who became my significant other. I was spending Thanksgiving with him and his family. I looked around, thankful I was around a group of people other than my family who accepted me. Everyone was talking and laughing until I heard the “N word”. I paused, was I mistaken? I heard it again. This was no misunderstanding this guys grandfather was addressing me as the N word. I looked around with tear filled eyes looking for someone… Anyone… To defend me. Instead I received deer in the headlights looks from everyone. I politely excused myself and I left. Obviously that relationship ended and became nothing more than a memory. A memory that will forever be engraved like a laceration on my heart. After feeling like the outcast my entire life all I wanted was to feel accepted but I felt like damaged goods.

Several years later God brought a man to me. Not just a man, THE man. He saw ME. He saw that damaged, emotionally scarred girl and still wanted me. When he sees me, there is no color. There’s just Mariah. He has shown me the love that is unexplainable with human words, it’s beyond words, it’s beyond worlds. Sometimes those memories come back and I explain to him “nobody wants to hear what I have to say about the racial injustices against African Americans because I am with the so called ‘oppressor'” (a white male). I’ve been told that I don’t fully understand because I’m not “black enough” I’m only “half”.

There was a time I sat on the floor crying because I couldn’t find any clothes that I thought were appropriate for the function we were going to. He insisted I could go in sweatpants and I would still be the most beautiful woman there. He didn’t understand. I was angry, I felt like he was disregarding my feelings. He asked me to explain, explain why I was sitting in the middle of the room crying over clothes.

Being a woman of color is hard. We walk into a room and are immediately judged before we speak. I feel like we have to try harder to get the respect we deserve as individuals. I like to wear my hair natural… At a previous work place I’ve been told my hair looked nappy, messy and they explained how I needed to learn how to upkeep my hair. If anyone has curly hair or hair that gets “frizzy” when there is the slightest percentage of humidity then you understand my frustration with this “appearance and hygiene intervention” that happened at work. I feel like if I wear wrinkled clothes then I look like I can’t take care of myself. I bluntly said to him “If I go like this people are going to think I’m a ghetto, black girl who can’t take care of herself.” I remember looking at him feeling embarrassed that I just spoke those words. I always talk about loving everyone and how I never judge anyone but I just spoke the most judgmental sentence. I was ashamed.

Waiting for his response gave me this pit in my stomach that reached all the way to the floor. I waited anxiously trying to study his expression and formulate some ridiculous scenario that was about to happen. Instead, he got up and hugged me. He hugged me and apologized. Even if he didn’t understand everything I went through, or the way I felt, he was trying. At that moment realized I had the one thing I had longed for. I finally had a seat at the lunch table.

With love,

M

Roles switched.

Women should be the stay at home moms! Well not in my house. I always envied stay at home moms. I thought they had “the life”. Waking up when they want, lounging around, watching Netflix and making dinner.  Until recently I had a altered view of what they actually do. In our home roles are switched I am what you would call the “bread winner” and my husband is the “stay at home parent”. My first instinct when I say that is to defend my husband and convince everyone he isn’t “that guy” who is just living under me while I do everything. But truth is, he isn’t plain and simple. I don’t need to defend him because this is MY truth.

But for those who don’t know me personally it’s itching at me to tell you. In the military you know sometimes you have to just pick up and move, well… That’s OUR life. We decided this time he wouldn’t find a job here because in July we are finally having our wedding & honeymoon (we did a intimate wedding awhile back) and then after that we are going to try and have a baby. In this economy what company would hire him for 3 months then let him take vacation for 3 weeks?? Honestly!

After our wedding we have decided we want to try and expand our family and make Corik (current son) a big brother! Both B(husband) and I discussed it and decided we wanted at least one of us at home with the baby for the first year of his/her life. Obviously that cant be me (because of the military) so we both decided it would be him. So here is where I get to my praise and kudos to all stay at home parents.

YOU are the real heroes. Seeing B day and night take care of Corik, clean the house, cook all the meals, pack both of our lunches, do the grocery shopping, do the laundry, be a handyman, AND still be a patient and loving father and husband. W-O-W. To the spouses of those stay at home parents, thank them every day, they are the “bread winners”. I honestly don’t know how he does all of it and still maintains composure when I fuss about not taking out the trash!

Even though my husband is a complete rockstar in my eyes he has told me several times how insecure and “un-manly” he feels being the stay at home dad while I go to work everyday. Our society has made it to where men work, women work and when women don’t work WE are the ones who are supposed to stay at home with the kids. I wholeheartedly believe everyday B is the glue to this family. In all honesty I couldn’t see myself doing everything he does and still seem “sane”! I would never shower I would be so frazzled all the time.

For ALL of the stay at home parents do you feel the same as B? How do you manage? What about the spouses of those who stay home? I can’t help but feel helpless.

With love,

M

Indecisive- Too many options.

I’m usually not one for writing. My grammar isn’t the best. But I decided “why not try this out?”. Will this be my personal “me time”? My DIY failures? My mommy rants? My life in the Air force? My experiences as a wife? All of the above?

That’s the great thing about the internet, it is full of “hogwash” as my husband says, so I might as add a little to it! 🙂

 

With love,

M